


If I lose myself tonight it will be you and I

by Fake_Brit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2x01 Compiliant, F/M, It's purely Bellarke the others are there just a bit, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fake_Brit/pseuds/Fake_Brit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no idea why, but that word – g o n e – echoes through him everytime he dares think of her face and it hurts like a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I lose myself tonight it will be you and I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AO3 post, not to mention my first posted fic in English. I'm sort of nervous... ARGH. I don't do well with nerves. I hope you guys enjoy :3 (And yes, you can point out any mistake or tweet me to fangirl at @xOnmyown__) That said, it'd be fantastic if you read this while listening to If I lose myself. Happy reading folks ;)

He's painting. And his lungs are burning like the fire of hell poetry once sang about. (He's read them in his youth. Bellamy Blake, a book eater. Who would've called that, huh?)  
He's painting as he runs, faster and faster and faster, feet barely touching the ground. Damn it, hell itself and every single one of Kane's useless, stupid limbs. He had voiced the freaking possibility. But the fact that he'd atempted – not killed, mind you, a t e m p t e d – to kill Jaha somehow obscured the fact that he is sort of likely to know more about survival on earth than somebody who'd lived in godforsaken space untill a couple of days ago. But of course – given his super duper shitty luck – the only person Kane wouldn't object to, who, just to clarify, would listen to him (Okay, after a bit of protest, but, hey no one is perfect) is missing. Physically not present. Gone.  
He has no idea why, but that word – g o n e – echoes through him everytime he dares think of her face and it hurts like a bitch.  
After a while spent running – throat tightened, his whole body burning with effort, his mind clouded with Clarke Griffin and her smile he's never thought about untill now (A small voice within him reluctantly admits that, yes, he misses her) – he notices Finn stopping next to Abby. He's about to bark, why aren't we moving, you douchebags, at the guards that are in charge of keeping the great terrorist of the Ark, and then he catches the look Finn gives him from the corner of his eye.  
They've spent the week the Arkers used to settle down creating their own mean of communication. Right now, Finn's chin is pointing to his farther left. There's something there you need to see.  
He takes a hesitant step toward Spacewalker, just as the guard on his left grabs his chain.  
Bellamy takes another step. Then another.  
They're still behind him and they aren't moving – perhaps they think he simply wants to get closer to the group – so decides to quicken his pace. Up close, Spacewalker looks like he's just seen a ghost.  
Finally, finally – at his twentieth step – they grab him on the shoulder. Wrong move. Anger's been boiling inside of him, thick and all encompassing, for a while now. Which, in simpler words means: he's beyond pissed and, as unfair as that might make him, he's had enough of watching his people – no matter whatever bullshit Marcus Kane gives him, they are his peolpe. His and Clarke's – suffer starvation and somebody else's thickness. He's had enough of watching them getting frailer and frailer, less and less hopeful by the day.  
He plants both his elbows in the guards' arms and he growls like a caged animal.  
There's only so much a man can take.  
“ Unchain him!” Finn shouts at Abby.  
The woman – so similar to the Princess and yet too different – shakes her head.  
Finn sighs and Bellamy can liteerally see his patience break in gazillions of tiny little pieces.  
“Look,” he says, not bothering to keep it cool anymore. “The guy might be a dick,” The Guy snorts, “But he's the only one who's ever dealt with keeping peole safe down here, not your laws. So, if you wanna keep breathing and see your daughter one day, unchain his ass, for God's sake!”  
Once his hands are finally free, Bellamy snaps into motion. He takes a gun and there's nothing more than him and survival now. Like the good ol' days.  
He spends so much time shooting and running he's worried his body might shake and crumble any minute. He has to keep going. It's the only way he's gonna see O again.  
He loses track of time – there's only gunshots, blood, life and death.  
He doesn't know what's going on – he might've been hit – but there's someone crouching over him. Abby, he thinks. He's probably been knocked out by a Reaper – which would explain perfectly why the hell his temples are throbbing so fucking hard – and now she's checking for injuries and blood loss and all that Doctor and Medicine related stuff Clarke used to ramble about and he didn't understansd a word of.  
His lips move – her name is the only thing that comes out, hoarse and low – and it freaking hurts. Scratch the running. Running is pie compared to this: his muscles feel like they're about to tear up and bathe his bones and the soil in his own blood. The spear must've been soaked in God knows which poison. He swears he won't ever say it out aloud but he desperately wishes Lincoln were here with them.  
The fire that is coursing through him, endless and pityless, cloudes everything and he's not sure he remembers his own name.  
“Fuck,” someone hisses angrily. “ Don't you dare. Don't you die on me, Bellamy!”  
His eyes stop being blurry and he thinks the venom has skipped the eyes and jumped to his head and is now frying it.  
Clarke is bending over his body – that now feels like the damn south pole – while tending to his cut wrist – the source of infection, he hears her mumble absentmindly.  
Great. Just great. He's probably already gone, and this whole thing is just something his brain created to help him process his own death or similar crap.  
He slides his eyes shut and Illusion-Clarke slaps his upper arm quite violently. “Stay awake, you dumbass!” she huffs.  
He coughs in response.  
He counts fifteen raspy breaths before saying, “Been having fun withouth me, Princess?”  
“You have no idea,” she coos, darkly.  
“Ow,” he winces as she touches his low abdomen. “Rude of you not to wait, don't you think?”  
“If I had, I wouldn't be keeping you alive right now,” she mutters as she moves her fingers along his body.  
His chest trembles, but he can't laugh. He feels so incredibly heavy.  
“Finally picked up the courage to feel me up, have you, Clarke?” He smirks briefly. “Figures it'd take you dying to do that,” he stops. Every word makes his throat more and more sore and he has trouble brearthing.  
Clarke voice's raises an octave and he feels like they've just landed in the hellhole Earth has become and she's against him all over again. “What the fuck are you saying, Bellamy?” She seethes. Well, well. It appears death has brought out her Psycho side. About damn time.  
Her voice fades out. He barely hears her growling, – with her index finger stabbing him somewhere, probably. He's always suspected it to be far, far sharper than any spear, as bony as it is. (It's probably a dorkish thing to say, but he remembers what it felt like against his arm) – “I'm not dead, and I'm sure as hell not leading you to be. D'you hear me, Blake?” He's pretty sure she'd shake him if she could. He's also positive she's still hissing at him, voice raised. He's lost her phrases, her words. He barely makes out the movement of her lips, which have suddenly whitened.  
It's the poison, some part of him says.  
She lowers her forehead to his sweaty one, and his not sure whether she actually murmurs something along the lines of, “... need you, remember?” or it is just what he dreams – wishes – she would say.  
*  
When he wakes up, he finds her holding his left hand tightly in her sleep, as if she were afraid she might lose him.  
He squeezes her hand, his lips curling up in a faint grin.  
“You know what, Princess? I think I need you, too. So do me a favor, don't ever desappear on me again,”  
He kisses her hair and thinks that, yeah, this is what starting over with someone at your side feels like.  
(And this time he's gonna do it right. They both are)

**Author's Note:**

> So, is it worth any comment? *Fidgets nervously*


End file.
